


Ghost Lights

by apostate (394percentdone)



Series: za october fics 2019 [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Other, masquerade from phantom of the opera plays in the background
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-12-17 11:28:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21053651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/394percentdone/pseuds/apostate
Summary: share a dance, share a night, share a touch





	Ghost Lights

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zeesqueere](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeesqueere/gifts).

> <3 thank you zee for letting me borrow dia! im in LOVE  
i also combined the prompts costume and party because come on.... masquerade......... high romance

Somehow, it’s darker than Noure expected. Lanterns with cold blue glass hang in the corners of the ballroom, in the stairwells, and near the bards, a ghostly pale light filling the air. Shadows of dancers on the floor, elongated and beautiful. Well, Noure supposes it’s a party celebrating death after all. 

In the crowd, they could be anyone. Moving like liquid silver through the dancers listening and laughing to themselves in time with the lute. Gazes of those around them weigh heavily on Noure’s skin, the black silk of their dress clinging to the thin lines of their body. Colorless skin revealed with a neckline plunging past their ribcage, thin spiderwebs of silver lace spun in the gap reaching up their neck and falling down their arms, their hair loosely tied back but left to hang down their back. 

Paired with the starling mask and Noure’s own sharp smile, it isn’t a wonder they haven’t been approached yet. 

Or, as they follow the heat of a gaze burning between their shoulder blades to find a pair of unmasked eyes in the soft blue light under a lantern, maybe they were just waiting to approach someone themselves. 

Hair like a halo around her bare face, gold paint and black tattoos on dark brown skin, and a blood-red dress cut straight a hair’s breadth below her collar bone, narrowing as it travels down her chest before it flares with her waist. She holds Noure’s mismatched eyes with a raised eyebrow and quirk of her lips. 

And Noure’s never been so interested in beauty like hers before. 

Noure smiles slowly, playfully, across the floor and inclines their head in her direction. The woman tilts their head up and to the side, exposing the length of her neck for a moment before she winks in Noure’s direction. A flash of teeth in a smile. 

It is a party celebrating dangerous things, after all. With a flick of their brittle wrist Noure extends a hand in her direction, bending at the waist in a graceful invitation. They don’t have to wait long for it to be accepted. Heartbeats in a crowd, a bard’s song ending only to be replaced with another. The woman without a mask takes their hand delicately and the dance begins. 

Steps and turns on the floor, joining hands and locking elbows only for a moment before moving on. They join the dance in motion, trade partner for partner but Noure keeps their eyes on the beautiful woman and knows the weight of her gaze on their skin. Fleeting touches in the pale blue light. 

Who is she? Who would be so bold as to go without a mask tonight, and who would hold Noure’s mismatched heavy gaze for so long without flinching? 

They move in time, spinning with the music and the song ends with their hands clasped together between them. Breathing heavily in the quiet. Dark eyes flick upwards, she barely comes up to their ribs, lips parted so slightly. 

Noure leans down, their lips hovering close enough to brush her ear. “Your touch is soft, with the look in your eyes, I expected to be bruised.”

“And yet you reached out first.” Her hand twists against Noure’s, fingers grasping their wrist. Pulling them closer. “I didn’t take you for the easily broken type.” 

Smiles full of teeth, colorless in the ghostly light. “Oh, you’re right about that.” 

A snap of heat blooms in the space between them, a breath away from closing the gap. Indecent. But when has Noure ever cared about being decent. The woman’s hand slips along the lace trailing up their arm and Noure watches their skin flush under her touch. Bloom in the chilly autumn night. It is a party celebrating sin after all.


End file.
